


Rickpse Bride

by wryandwatchful



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Corpse Bride (2005) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Not Related, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Corpse reanimation, F/M, Halloween, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Science Fiction, Slow Romance, Victorian names, Weddings, scifi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-21 00:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12445107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wryandwatchful/pseuds/wryandwatchful
Summary: Mortimer Smith is set to be married into a wealthy family, but after an embarrassing wedding rehearsal he flees to the woods where he unwittingly finds himself married to a corpse groom. Will he ever find his way back to the girl he was promised, or will he find in this stranger that love can transcend even death? (Corpse Bride AU)





	Rickpse Bride

A thick fog hung over the dreary city; vapor dancing past chimney tops to mix with the tendrils of dry cedar wood smoke that trailed up from the fireplaces below. The soot and moisture combined to block out the light of the midday sun and cast the world in a bleak shade of grey, hanging heavy like a dark, daunting cloud. From an open window of a tall and desolate-looking brick mansion came the faint sound of a quill scratching against parchment.  
  
  
With large, sweeping lines and thin scribbles of shading, a picture began to emerge from the ink; an insect with four paper-thin wings, the bottom two trailing out longer into thin whisps that dipped at the ends like coattails. It was a moon moth, beautiful and rare.

  
  
The quill slid into the inkwell with a slick whisper as the young man leaned back and rolled the white sleeves of his shirt down his arms. His name was Mortimer Smith, a young lad of only sixteen with wild brown curls and a permanent look of worry etched on his face. As he buttoned the shirt cuffs around his wrists he compared the sketch to its model. The fragile wings of the pale blue moth beat slowly from where it rested on a birch twig in the glass dome.   


  
“D-don't worry, friend. I'm all done, see?” Mortimer gestured at the parchment with a broad sweep of his hand. The moth crawled forward and preened one of its antennae as though it were bashful at the beautiful likeness before it. 

  
Mortimer carefully lifted the container and carried it to the open window, pushing back one of the thick mauve drapes with an elbow. “Y-you're free now, go on.” he said, removing the lid. The glass rattled as he did so and with a little shake he urged the moth to take flight. A tender sort of sadness filled him as he watched his companion depart like a leaf caught on a chill winter breeze. In the time he had spent drawing the creature a kinship of sorts had emerged between the two; both ostracized and considered bothersome. 

  
  
“Mortimer it's time to go!” A voice shouted from down in the courtyard. His mother, a sour woman with wild blonde locks of hair called up to him. Mortimer glanced at the grandfather clock in his room, realizing how late in the morning it was and decided it would be best to not keep her waiting. Beth Smith was not a woman to be trifled with as her temper was infamously short.

 

The young man quickly shut his window and ran out of his bedroom and down the stairs, taking them two at a time to reach the courtyard faster than his mother's waning patience. 

 

Two horses nickered and stomped their feet impatiently where they stood bridled and ready to pull the carriage- a rickety wooden thing that appeared too small to carry one person, let alone three. Beauregard, the family’s butler, stood by the creatures coughing wetly into a stained cloth handkerchief as he ran a hand along the flank of one of the steeds, doing his best to soothe it. Mortimer gave a polite smile and nodded to the poor man as he vaulted up into the cab of the carriage to join his parents. 

 

“Oh how I adore weddings.” Bethany said, idly fanning herself with a lace fan. Mortimer's father, Gerald, patted her hand timidly. 

 

“It’s a wedding  _ rehearsal _ dear.” He corrected. Bethany closed her fan and slapped him with it.

 

Gerald Smith was an interesting fellow to say the least. Pitiable to say the most. With a thin brown mustache peppering his weak upper lip he looked almost like a street urchin in stolen finery. He had made his fortune as a fish merchant before settling down and making a life with Bethany, but business had been slow as of late. That, combined with his wife's lavish spending, had very soon drained the family of their finances and if something was not done soon the whole lot would be in the poor house within the year. 

 

Mortimer sighed. “I've never even  _ met _ her. W-why do we have to marry so qui-quickly?”

 

“Because, dear, you'll be saving the whole family when you do. The Dorsey’s are practically royalty.” His mother slid open her purple lace fan with a flourish before whispering to Gerald behind it. “You know the dowry must be immense.”

 

With a lurch forward that jostled the whole family, the carriage was off. Its steel wheels clacked loudly against the cobblestone and rattled the interior of the cab. Mortimer peered out of the window at the figure of his home growing smaller and smaller in the distance as the carriage led his family towards the promise of finery, wealth, and for the young man, hopefully love.   
  


 

****

  
  


Jessica Dorsey gazed at herself in the tall bureau mirror. Her pale skin shimmered almost inhumanly in the candle light, accentuating freckles, sharp cheekbones, and autumn-colored hair that sat tied in a vice-like bun atop her head. An old maid behind her pulled the strings of a corset tighter around her waist, pushing the air out of her lungs in a sharp gasp.

 

“I don't know, Madeline, what if we don’t like each other?” She asked breathlessly.

A sad little smile stretched the wrinkles of the maid's face. She opened her mouth to speak but a dry, cold cackle interrupted her.    
Jessica's mother, Evelyn, stood by the door like a sentry. Folding her arms across her broad chest, she scoffed. “ _ Like _ each other?” She asked incredulously. “As though that has anything to do with marriage.” Evelyn marched to where her daughter stood, roughly pushing the maid out of the way and grabbed the corset strings herself. Tears stung the corners of Jessica's eyes as the strings were tugged tighter mercilessly. “Your marrying him will save us from poverty, child. Isn't that enough? What more could a woman want?” 

 

Jessica braced herself against the bureau with both hands and looked at her mother in the reflection. “Love?” She whispered; more from fear of her mother than from the suffocating fabric crushing her ribs and compressing her lungs. A cold laugh was all the girl received in response.

  
When the doorbell rang it sounded more like a funeral knell than a greeting as it reverberated through the empty halls of the manor. With one last harsh tug, Evelyn tied the strings into a knot and bustled out of the room. 

 

 Jessica walked over to the window and looked out at the carriage, wondering what her fiance would be like. Would he be handsome and kind, or evil and controlling? Would he respect and love her, or would he be just like her father- cold and distant? As she watched her new fiance’s butler hack into a ratty cloth until he was blue in the face, Jessica felt more and more that her chance at love was fading fast. With a sigh she finished getting dressed and bade Madeleine thanks as she left her room and made her way towards the west wing where the family would be having tea. 

 

As she strode past the aged portraits of her bloodline the faint sound of a piano being played drifted down the halls, catching her attention. The melody was haunting yet beautiful, like the image of a deceased loved one all powdered and pressed; ready for a funeral casket. The more she listened the more she wanted to find the source of the gorgeous sound that tickled her senses and raised chills down her spine.

 

She rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, catching sight of a young man sitting at the piano. The way his shoulders rolled and rose with the melody was a testament to how passionate he was in his ministrations; so caught up with playing that he didn't realize Jessica was approaching until she was already behind him. 

 

“That's a lovely tune.” She said, and giggled softly when the boy leaped out of his skin, clearly taken by surprise. He let out a shout, standing up so fast that the seat toppled over like a great dead tree onto the rug. 

 

“F-forgive me, Miss Darcy. I-I didn't see you there.” He stammered and knelt down to lift the seat back up on its legs.

 

“You play beautifully,” she said, ignoring his stutter. “Please, call me Jessica. It's only appropriate.”    
  


“Y-yes Miss...J-Jessica.” Mortimer tugged and twisted his cravat nervously. His heart hammered in his chest and he felt as though he could faint at any moment. Women were not his strong suit. In fact, just standing before one like this caused him immense anxiety and increased his stutter ten-fold. 

 

“Mother never lets me play the piano,” Jessica continued, folding her skirts beneath her as she sat down on the bench. “She says music is too passionate for a lady. It would be improper.” The keys tinkled sadly as she toyed with them, playing a dissonant little tune. Mortimer watched over her shoulder, cringing every once in awhile when she'd hit the wrong pairing of notes, but was intrigued by her skill nonetheless. “I always pictured my wedding day as something beautiful and grand. Purple daffodils and a grand piano playing as I walked past the pews.” She stopped and looked up at Mortimer. “Silly isn't it?”

 

Those eyes; green and deep like a pinewood forest drew the boy in. “Yes...silly.” He murmured. The eyes dimmed. “N-no! I mean n- i-it's not silly at all!” Mortimer threw out his hands in apology and knocked a small vase containing a single white carnation over, spilling water down into the piano wires. The pair's hands brushed together as they both reached for the flower, his covering hers like a gentle embrace before withdrawing it quickly as though burned. Jessica traced the petals with her fingers before offering the carnation to him with a demure smile. The man's heart pounded as he reached for it, once again brushing his hand against hers. 

 

The door to the west drawing room slammed open, Evelyn bursting into the room with an incredulous look of rage on her face. “Jessica! What is  _ this _ ?” She said, quickly approaching the two. Mortimer tucked the flower away inside his breast pocket and looked away sheepishly. “The two of you _ alone _ together, and right before the rehearsal?!” Evelyn took her daughter's arm in her grasp and hurried back towards the room, calling out over her shoulder for the young man to follow. 

  
With one hand pressed to his chest where the flower lie hidden, Mortimer followed. He had a feeling that his chance at love might've come after all. 


End file.
